Double Threat

by F. Paul Wilson

  6

  Rhys said, “How’re we doing with your bulb?”

  Daley checked out the one sitting on the hood—“her” bulb. Dark. She bent closer, trying to detect the faintest glow, but it remained dark.

  “Not looking too good here, Rhys,” she said.

  Dead as Kelsey’s nuts, as Uncle Seamus would say—as long as Gram was out of earshot.

  (“Who’s Kelsey?”) Pard said from the far side of the hood.

  No idea.

  (“And why were his—? Never mind.”)

  Rhys was bent over the in-ground setup. “Same here. Damn. I’ll call it in.”

  He turned away as he jabbed at his phone but she could still hear him.

  “No action out here at one mile … No, not even a glimmer … How about closer in?… Shit … Yeah, well … What, tonight?… Now?… Can’t it wait? Okay, okay, I’ll be there … Might be a little late, though.”

  “No luck anywhere?” she said as he ended the call.

  He looked disappointed as he shook his head. “Not a glimmer. And to make matters worse, the Elders’ Circle has called a meeting for all involved to review the test.”

  “That means you, I take it?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I’ll have to drop you back at your place, then go to the meeting. I was hoping we could grab some dinner but this could drag on.”

  “Dinner?”

  He smiled. “Or are you fasting and meditating again?”

  (“That smile says he might be on to you.”)

  Not a chance.

  She put on her duh-everybody-knows tone: “No one fasts on a Thursday.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s simply not done.”

  “News to me, but … another rain check then?”

  “Sure. I’ll file it with the last one.”

  Just as well.

  (“Don’t tell me you’re looking forward to another frozen dinner tonight.”)

  I’m kinda tired. And we’ve got sriracha chicken and rice—yum!

  (“Yuck.”)

  7

  Rhys hid a yawn.

  Was this meeting never going to end? Really, how much was there to talk about? The transmission failed, so back to the drawing board, right?

  But no. They’d all gathered in the Lodge’s main meeting room, and everybody—except the grunts like Rhys who’d helped with the testing—seemed to have something to say. The whole Circle of Elders was in attendance—Dad plus the heads of the other four families—and they all had to have their say. Then the clan’s engineers were called on to explain why they thought the test flopped. They got all sorts of defensive and said they were following Tesla’s circuit diagrams to the letter—checked and double-checked—but explained how they might well have been drawn by an assistant, because Tesla developed his diagrams in his head without writing them down.

  All fine and good, and maybe even true, but something was off. It all had a rehearsed feel … some sort of dog-and-pony show. The Elders, including Rhys’s father, sat in a pack and seemed oddly jubilant—hardly consistent with a failed test run. Why such a happy, almost celebratory mood?

  Rhys kept looking around, trying to spot Cadoc lurking in the shadows, but saw no trace of him. He had no doubt his brother was somewhere within earshot. He wouldn’t miss this for anything.

  Finally his father rose and addressed the crowd. His cheerful demeanor with the other Elders had turned somber now.

  “It appears we still have work to do to achieve our dream. As we’ve heard from our engineers, success depends on two requirements: The tower must be able to broadcast power, and the transformers must be able to receive it. If one end of that equation is faulty, the process fails. The crucial question is: Where does the fault lie? Transmission? Reception? Or both?”

  “What’s the next step, then?” someone said.

  Dad didn’t hesitate. “More power.”

  “But our home lights dimmed during the test as it is,” someone else said. “How much more do we need?”

  Rhys hadn’t heard that and it surprised him. The solar array produced far more power than the Pendry homes needed. To use all the excess and then some indicated an impressive drain.

  An engineer said, “The array is producing all it can under present conditions, but it’s not yet spring. Maybe in summer?”

  “For a number of reasons, we can’t wait that long for testing.” Dad pointed to Rhys. “My son and I will talk to Jason Tadhak tomorrow to see if he can augment our power supply.”

  We will? Rhys thought.

  FRIDAY—FEBRUARY 27

  1

  The police showed up at Healerina on Friday morning.

  Juana, dressed as usual in her bib-front denims, had stopped by with a clutch of dream catchers. They were proving a popular item and she’d brought some new ones to replenish the stock.

  (“One could wish she’d try a different ensemble,”) Pard said. He’d taken up his usual position by the window and Juana was hanging over him, looking out.

  Why? It’s her signature look.

  (“Well, then, one can at least hope she owns more than one pair.”)

  “A sheriff’s car just pulled up,” Juana said.

  Daley joined her. Sure enough, a white patrol car emblazoned with Imperial County Sheriff in bright green letters had nosed into the curb in front of the shop. A buff-looking, dark-haired guy in a dark green uniform unfolded himself from the unit and stepped toward the door.

  “This looks like official business,” Daley said, feeling a touch of the jitters.

  Had the folks she’d scammed in Coachella tracked her to Nespodee Springs? One of them might have spotted her on their way to or from the spa.

  “That’s Sam Alvarez,” Juana said.

  “You know him? How?”

  “Over the years I’ve gotten to know most of the department.”

  (“From which side of the bars, I wonder.”)

  “Officially he’s a sheriff’s lieutenant but we call him ‘deputy,’” Juana added. “Don’t worry. He’s good people.”

  “He may be, but I’m pretty sure he’s not here to buy a dream catcher.”

  He stepped inside and looked around. “Looks like you made it through the earthquake okay.”

  “Good morning, Deputy Alvarez,” Juana said.

  He looked surprised as he smiled. “Juana. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  “I’m everywhere,” she said. “You should know that by now.”

  “I’m here to see the owner.” He looked at Daley. “Would that be you?”

  “That would be me. Is something wrong?”

  “Depends.”

  (“Uh-oh.”)

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’re practicing medicine without a license.”

  So soon? I knew this would happen, but this is only our third day open.

  (“Has to be Doc Llewelyn. He stops by yesterday and the storm troopers stop by today. My statement contains a logical fallacy, by the way.”)

  A what?

  (“Well, you see—”)

  Later.

  Struggling to keep the disappointment from her expression—she’d liked Doc Llewelyn—Daley said, “Wherever did you get that idea?”

  “Well, the name of your business does have the word ‘healer’ in it, and the sheriff heard from the State Department of Consumer Affairs that they received a complaint about how you might be practicing without a license.”

  “‘Might be’?”

  “Well, the caller said he wasn’t sure what you were doing, but he suspected a problem.”

  “And just who was this caller?”

  “A doctor in Pomona.”

  (“Then it’s not Llewelyn after all. Estelle said she was from Pomona.”)

  I’m guessing she went back to her GI guy and told him I cured her.

  (“You never said that.”)

  But that doesn’t mean Estelle didn’t. Wishful thinking, you know. And her specialist wouldn�
��t have scoped her again already—it hasn’t been two days yet.

  Though hardly welcome, this was kind of a relief. She’d known all along that, given enough time and opportunity, she’d raise the ire of the medical community. She’d rather deal with this than a swindling charge.

  “I see,” Daley said, gathering her thoughts. She gestured around the shop. “Well, as you can see, I have no meds for sale—of any kind. I’m just a guide, deputy. I don’t prescribe, I simply help people heal themselves.”

  Deputy Alvarez pulled out a small spiral notepad and flipped a few pages.

  “Here we go: According to the complaint, you told this doctor’s patient that she didn’t need surgery anymore.”

  (“That is not what you said.”)

  Tell me about it.

  Daley shook her head. “I most certainly did not. I don’t know if the woman said it wrong or her doctor heard it wrong, but what I told her was to return to her specialist so he could check her over and see if he thought she still needed surgery. I never ever get between a patient and her licensed professional.”

  (“Did you just say ‘licensed professional’?”)

  I did. Sounds official, doesn’t it?

  (“An excellent command of Officialese.”)

  Alvarez started scribbling in his notebook. “DCA checked for a website and said you don’t have one.”

  Daley realized she’d never thought of starting a Healerina website. But now that the deputy had mentioned it, she figured the shop was still way too nascent to invest in one.

  Nascent? Where’d that come from? Pard again.

  “What do they care about a website?” she said.

  “That’s where quacks”—his hand snapped up—“not that I’m saying you’re a quack, it’s just that the website is where quacks make their most outrageous claims. That’s where they hang themselves.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have one.”

  He smiled. “What would it say if you did?”

  Daley had a feeling the question was more important than he was making it seem.

  “I’d probably put: ‘Helping Californians heal themselves since last Wednesday.’”

  He gave a polite laugh, then said, “Is that what you do? Help people heal themselves?”

  Had to be careful here …

  “Yes, but only while keeping up with their regular doctors. I like to think of myself as a sort of self-health counselor.”

  (“Did you just make that up?”)

  On the spot.

  (“That’s pretty good. I like it.”)

  So glad you approve.

  (“Was that sarcasm?”)

  As Alvarez transcribed her response, Daley said, “Why didn’t the Consumer Affairs people come themselves? Why a guy with, you know, a gun? Did they want me arrested?”

  A smile. “They have their own Division of Investigation but the complaint had no specifics, just a suspicion. If you had a website with claims that stepped over the line, they’d be here. But since you have no website at all, and don’t advertise, they have only hearsay to go on. And, since they’re headquartered up in Sacramento, and you’re way down here, they asked us to look into it.”

  “And what do you plan to report?”

  He looked around. “That I didn’t find any basis for the complaint. You’re not offering treatment and not, as you say, getting between patients and their licensed professionals. But it’s not my decision. DCA will have the final word. Right now I think they’ll let it go but keep their antenna up. If more complaints come in, you’ll be hearing from them directly.”

  Well, isn’t that just ducky.

  (“Inevitable, I’m afraid. If we have any success—and I guarantee we will—people will talk about you and you can’t control what they say to others, no matter how careful you are about what you say to them.”)

  “Any suggestions?” she said. “On how to stay off their radar, I mean?”

  “Keep it low-key like you have it. If you advertise, don’t make promises you can’t keep, or offer cures for things like cancer and AIDS. That’s a big red flag. I’ve seen DCA come down hard on some naturopaths and chiropractors in the county who start promising results that their licenses don’t qualify them for. You’re not licensed for anything, so you’ve got to be extra careful.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “No problem.” He folded up his notebook. “Mind if I look around?”

  “Not a bit.”

  Daley watched him wander over to Juana and exchange a few pleasantries, then browse the displays. He spent extra time examining the quartz palm stones.

  Seems like a decent guy. Good-looking too.

  (“If you say so.”)

  Finally he headed for the door. “Have a good day, ladies.”

  Daley joined Juana at the front window.

  “Well, well, well,” Juana said. “Seems you’ve hit the radar of both the county sheriff’s department and the state consumer affairs folks. Congratulations.”

  “Lucky me,” Daley said as she watched Deputy Alvarez drive away. “How come I don’t feel like celebrating?”

  2

  “Now that’s interesting,” Dad said as Rhys parked the Land Rover in front of Tadhak Realty, right next to Jason’s old Mercedes. “A sheriff’s car leaving the Duad’s shop.”

  Rhys watched the white-and-green unit pull away. He wondered …

  “Your doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Getting her in trouble, making life miserable for her, chasing her out of town. You know, that sort of stuff.”

  His father smiled. “I don’t need the sheriff. When I want her gone, she’ll go, and I won’t need to get a third party involved.”

  Rhys forced a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not even close.”

  Rhys found his deadpan expression disturbing. He had to be kidding.

  His father added, “I assume you’ve learned nothing about the Duad.”

  “She has a name, Dad—Daley.”

  “Actually, it’s Stanka.”

  “Yeah. Stanka Daley, but she goes by ‘Daley.’”

  “She saw the porthors, Rhys. Or rather they showed themselves to her.”

  “Well, that’s more than they’ve done with me.”

  Porthors … How could he believe in that junk? But then Daley had seen something—she’d been asking all over town about it. What?

  “All in good time, Rhys. But something is going on here and I want to know what it is. Where nearing a crucial juncture and I don’t want her interfering.”

  “I can’t see how she can be a threat to anything, but I might have found out something more about her over dinner last night if I hadn’t been stuck in that useless meeting.”

  “Not useless at all. I sold the Circle on the need for more power.”

  “‘Sold’ them?”

  “The Elders took a vote after the rest of you left and we agreed to have the Pendry Fund underwrite whatever the Tadhaks charge us.”

  “But why go to the expense, and what’s the rush? In three months or so we’ll hit the solstice and the array’s output will peak.”

  He leaned toward Rhys. “The solstice will be…” He hesitated, then said, “I want to be prepared. The heavens are aligning. We must be ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “The Return is imminent.”

  Rhys suppressed a groan. The Return of the Visitors … His father was such a brainy guy. Rhys couldn’t believe how thoroughly he’d bought into all that garbage in the Scrolls.

  “And your girlfriend is a threat to that,” he added.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, although…”

  “Although what?”

  He wouldn’t mind a girlfriend. Not one bit. But …

  “Nothing.”

  “You have a fiancée. Remember Fflur?”

  “Of course I remember her. A nice person, but hardly a fiancée. It’s not as if we’ve had a relationshi
p and I proposed. You and the Elders figured we’d go well together and made a match.”

  “Arranged marriages work. Take your mother and me. We’ve had a solid marriage for three decades. Sometimes you have to put the stability and integrity of the clan ahead of your own personal desires.”

  “Take one for the team, in other words?”

  “You make it sound like getting shot!”

  “Well, spending my life married to someone chosen by a bunch of old men sounds pretty much just like getting shot.”

  “Just don’t get sweet on the Duad. I’ve a feeling she won’t be around too much longer.”

  That sent a little jolt of alarm through him. “Oh? You know something I don’t?”

  “Just a feeling. That’s all, just a feeling. Let’s go in.”

  Jason Tadhak was waiting for them—Dad had called him earlier and arranged for a meeting. After greetings and pleasantries, and Jason commenting how he hadn’t seen Rhys in years and now twice in a week, they sat and got down to business.

  Dad said, “Well, Jason, the future of this whole conversation depends on two questions, and the second is contingent on your response to the first.”

  Dad was a compulsive prefacer. Rhys wanted to nudge him and tell him to get to the point.

  “The first is whether or not your wind farm produces more power than you need to supply the town.”

  Jason smiled. “Tons more.”

  “That’s what I like to hear! Okay, now the second: Would you be interested in selling your extra wattage?”

  Jason leaned back and steepled his fingers. “This has to do with your Tesla tower, I assume?”

  “Yes. We need stronger current.”

  “That was quite a display last night. Very impressive. And you need more wattage?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “I think I can speak for my family—in fact, I know I can—and say that our answer is yes. We will supply whatever you need up to the point where it impacts the town.”

  His father looked stunned and didn’t reply for a moment. Then, “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely. But it won’t come free, of course. My family will require compensation.”

  “That goes without saying—as long as it’s within reason. How much per kilowatt?”

  “We have plenty of cash in the family coffers. We’re looking toward the future. If your project is successful, it will change the world. And the people who control that technology will have unimaginable wealth and influence. We can remake the world into a paradise. We want a piece of the action instead.”